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He spun so quickly she took two tiny steps back. “Rescue? Youinterfered, madam, in something of which you know nothing about.”
Helen’s mouth dried at the intensity of his gaze. Before she could sort his words, he lifted one of the saddle bags and began removing her books. One by one, he tossed the volumes to land with a heavy thud. Wilkinson’s guide slid onto the dirt at her feet as she continued to gape at him. When he pocketed her map of Egypt for himself, she was forced to acknowledge the truth. He was truly leaving her!
It wasmilesback to Alexandria. She couldn’t allow him to leave. Even if she could find someone at the Kafr Abu Homs settlement to assist her, it would take the better part of a day to return on her own.
“You need me,” she said as she began gathering her books to her chest. “You’ll not get far without my assistance.”
He lifted a dark eyebrow as he settled the blanket on the camel’s back. “I’ve gone thirty years without your assistance, Miss Corbyn. You can rest easy there’s nothing you can offer that Ineed.”
Helen gasped as the refrain she’d heard every night in her sleep for the past weeks resurfaced.There’s nothing you have that I want.
Her mouth refused to close. Finally, she found her voice. “Itwasyou! That night in the museum.” She hurried to the camel’s other side to gauge his reaction.
Mr. Evelyn slowed in his task of tightening Fiona’s tack, but he didn’t stop. Was that bewilderment in his gaze or consternation that she’d caught him out? She faltered, wondering if her ears had been playing tricks. She closed her eyes, overwhelmed with uncertainty.
He was aninvestor, she reminded herself, not a smuggler. He’d mentioned a sister—a relation so dear to him that he’d named his camel after her. A man with a sister could be trusted, couldn’t he? Oh, she was a fool to even think such a thing, that much was certain. Perhaps her father had been right to worry.
When she opened her eyes again, Fiona had risen to her feet. Mr. Evelyn was seated on the saddle like a proud caliph, scarf wrapped about his head, pale eyes shimmering in the moonlight. He looked quite magnificent, and her stupid heart thumped heavily at the sight, not the least bit concerned for her dilemma.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Your hand won’t heal properly without the splint.It’s quite possible you’ll find yourself with a misshapen lump, or worse, a putrid infection that will requiresevering the limb.” Miss Corbyn emphasized thelast words with a bit more relish than Rhys thought a gently bred granddaughter-of-an-earl ought to have done.
Frustrated with his immobility, he’d discarded Miss Corbyn’s linen wrapping an hour or more past, despite the lady’s frown. She sat awkwardly on the saddle, angled as far from him as possible, so he couldn’t gauge her expression. Her tone, though, painted a clear enough picture.
“It’s no more than a bruise,” he assured her through his teeth.
“And you know this because you’re a physician?” she said, to which he didn’t think a reply was necessary.
The camel swayed beneath them as Miss Corbyn held her gaze on the horizon. The landscape unrolled before them in an endless green marsh dotted with clumps of acacia and date palms. They’d long since left the canal to cross the delta on one of the many well-worn routes that laced the plain, riding through what was left of the night and well into the next day. The lady hadn’t spoken a word to him for hours, although he’d sensed her thinking plenty of them. In the past minutes, though, she’d loosened the reins on her tongue, and it galloped freely.
“You weren’t truly going to leave me. If I’d not agreed to accompany you to Cairo, you would have eventually come around.” There was a long pause and then, “Wouldn’t you have?”
“I suppose we’ll never know, will we?” Rhys said, idly swatting an insect that buzzed at his ear. Of course, he wouldn’t have truly left her—not for long at any rate. He wasn’t such a churlish scoundrel as that, but he’d seen the indecision on her face. She didn’t trust him, and he couldn’t fault her for it, but he didn’t have the luxury of time or the desire to debate alternatives. He’d merely urged her thinking along to its inevitable conclusion. But the devil take it, did she have to go on so?
“—you’ve bent the corner of Wilkinson’s guide beyond repair. I’ll have you know, that was a gift from my father—”
He lost the thread of her rant as his mind wandered. Miss Corbyn’s waist was just as curved today as it had been yesterday, and her warm jasmine scent rose between them. He thought the fragrance would have worn off by now, or at least yielded to the stronger odor of camel, but no. The lady seemed intent on torturing him with her spicy-sweet scent.
Some moments later, she finally paused and canted her head to one side. When he was certain she must be plotting his painful end, she surprised him with a question. “What does your sister think of your camel’s name?”
He cleared his throat and considered his reply for a few paces before saying, “I’m more concerned with what my camel thinks. It’s a fair bet she’ll be insulted if she ever meets her namesake.”
Miss Corbyn shifted on the saddle, and he could sense her smile beyond the edge of her scarf. “Will you tell me about her?”
“My camel?”
“Your sister!”
He closed his eyes and inhaled a heavy breath. Opened his mouth then closed it again when his throat grew tight. “Perhaps another time.”
He thought she might protest, but he heard only the smallest of sighs before she opened Colonel Leake’s map. She angled herself into a more comfortable position as she turned the map first one way then another to get her bearings. Rhys didn’t deceive himself that he’d been forgiven, but perhaps they might find a bit of the accord they’d shared before he threatened to leave her. As she studied her map, Rhys felt his own tension slowly ease.
Daylight faded as the afternoon yielded to evening. It had been some hours since they’d slept at Kafr Abu Homs and even more since he’d eaten. His stomach protested, and he thought longingly of the small breakfast he’d hastily downed before finding Akeem outside the coffee house in Alexandria. It seemed a lifetime ago, but then this land, where the past often overtook the present, had a way of bending and stretching time.
He spied a small pool at the edge of an ancient settlement just ahead. The narrow bank looked to be fairly dry, and there were plenty of sturdy, tent-staking reeds rimming the water. As they drew near, he slowed Fiona and said, “We’ll camp here.”
Miss Corbyn straightened. “According to the map, we must be nearing the Nile by now.” Despite their circumstances, he detected excitement in her voice, and he recalled his own first glimpse of the majestic river. No words could describe it, and no English experience could prepare one for the view.
